


Resonance

by tangerine (arte)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 09, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Crossover, Gen, Like Glacial Slow, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Season/Series 09, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4303239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arte/pseuds/tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't want to fight," Castiel says before anyone could start laying out threats. He hopes the shield in his hand would work as enough of a deterrent.</p><p>"Neither do we," the one who just threw the shield at him says. "Just give him back and we'll go seperate ways."<br/> <br/>In which Castiel falls into Avengers universe and everyone on the other side tries to bring him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_What am I even doing here?_ Dean thinks as he sits in a bar, nursing a bottle of beer. He had said that he'd be hunting down Gadreel alone, but deep down, even he knows what a joke that plan of his is. He can't watch every CCTV around the world in the hopes of catching Gadreel's vessel. Hell, for all he knows, the bastard could have hopped into another one in the mean time. He needs to do research, but all the relevant materials are back in the Bunker, chilling with Sam and Cas.

 _Brilliant move, Winchester._ He feels self-loathing curling at the bottom of his stomach. He's poison, he knows that very well, but now he's useless to boot. 

What good is a killer without aim?

A waitress passes him by, full of flirtatious smile. Oh, she has no idea. Dean thinks she would run screaming if she can see what's going on inside his nogging, but that's the beauty of one night stands, isn't it? Just a simple pleasure, no need to dig out the monster inside.

Good fun, if not for the adios.

Dean returns the smile half-heartedly.

"So- is that boudoir smile for me?"

Dean whips his head around at the smarmy voice. 

Crowley. 

He's taken aback even as his hand flies toward Ruby's knife, because the fucker should know better than to creep on Dean and alert his presence.

"At least buy me a drink first," Crowley says, irritatingly blasé. 

"I said the next time I see you-"

"Dead. Yes, rings a bell, but let's not dwell on the past, shall we?" Dean wants to say _Watch me,_ but Crowley carries on without giving him the chance to. "This bar is a bust. That waitress is trouble with a capital VD, and your prey, Gadreel, has left the building. So, it's time to move on to more pressing matters, like-" 

His phone rings precisely at that moment and Dean can't resist pumping his fist in the air. It's not polite or whatever but fuck it, the last thing he wants is to be told what a failure he is by a King of Hell, an almost de-throned one at that.

"Sorry, it looks like people are lining up to meet me tonight," he grins obnoxiously as he stands up. He tosses the bill down and walks away, answering his phone with an overly cheerful, "Hello, who am I suppose to be helping?"

"Dean," the voice says, and Dean has to work hard not to falter and give himself away. He knows that Crowley's still watching. 

He would have never answered if he knew that the caller was his goddamned brother. He told him that he should stay the Hell away from him. It's too late to hang up, so instead he lengthens his stride. It's impossible to keep a light note in his voice. He tries. "What's up?"

"It's Cas," Sam says, worried and pinched. "He's gone. There was some kind of a rip between dimensions and- well, the important thing is, we have to-"

"Whoa, whoa, back up. What do you mean he's gone? Dimensions? You mean he's not even in this world?" He jogs faster toward the Impala. Good thing he didn't drink much. This is an emergency and he doesn't have enough brain space to worry about cops on top of everything else. 

"Basically, yeah. It's-" Sam makes a furstrated noise at the back of his throat. "Just, can you get here quickly? I'll explain once you get here."

For a wild second, Dean wants to demand that Sam explain everything right here and now so that they could find Cas through seperate ways. To be absolutely frank, he's not yet ready to face Sam and the Bunker.

But the situation must be truly fucked up for Sam to have called him first, and in light of that, his reluctance seems down right whiny and childish.

"Alright, I'll be there," Dean says and hangs up. He pats himself down to find the key and drive form Mississippi to Kansas in a record time. It'd take, what twelve hours? He thinks he can do without sleep tonight. He has plenty of experience with not sleeping.

"So which one is in trouble now, the angel or the Moose?" 

Dean growls. "Piss off, Crowley. I don't have time for this."

"Really? What can you do by running off in the middle of the night empty handed? Another pair of eyes? Please," Crowley says, hands in his pocket and knowing smirk in his face. "At least go back with something to contribute. I know just where to find a weapon strong enough to kill a Knight of Hell. What do you say?"

It'd be a lie to say that Dean isn't tempted, but he can still feel Cas slipping through his hand in the Purgatory as if it were yesterday, the portal closing in the blink of an eye.

Sometimes, the power to gank whatever sons of bitches in front of you don't matter. If you're not fast enough, you're still going to lose.

"Sorry, pal, no dice."

"Oh, come now-"

"Look," Dean says, sensing that it'd go on and on if he doesn't put his foot down. "You and me both know that you wouldn't have come to me if you didn't absolutely need me for whatever you're scheming. So unless you want to blow any chance of future negotiation," he slides the knife from his pocket. "Or you life, for that matter, you better run off now."

Crowley regards at him with a scowl, eyes calculating. Then his expression smoothes down as he steps back, raising his arms in a mock surrender. 

"Your loss, Squirrel. But remember, the pirce is only going to go higher."

Dean lunges at him, but the demon pulls his disapearing trick on. Well, it was more of show than anything else, anyway. Dean doesn't dwell much on it and gets into the car.

Twelve hours. Why had he run so faraway?

++

**1 hour ago**

"I'm sorry I'm late," Castiel says as he steps down the last stair that leads to the Bunker.

Sam whirls toward him, hair flying all around. "Cas, where the Hell have you been? I was going mad with worry here."

Castiel recognizes the GPS tracking on the laptop screen. 

_He was about to go out and search for me,_ the thought is heart warming and guilt-inducing at the same time.

"I-" Castiel says, and looks down at the grocery bags in his hands. So many things happened in the past seven hours and he just wants to forget everything. "I have to put these down. Have you eaten, Sam?"

"Give that here," Sam stands up and offers his hands. Castiel tries to decline, but Sam just flexes his fingers. "I'm the one who needs to eat. I'll cook something up, so why don't you just sit here and take a breather? You look beat, man."

There is no arguing with that. He _is_ beat. He hands over the bags, and Sam disappears into the kitchen.

++

Castiel sits down and stares blankly at the wall until Sam returns. He doesn't want to talk, but Sam has air of patience and a good cup of coffee on his side. Coffee tastes familiar even with the stolen Grace. It reminds him of angels and the length they would go to get what they want. They are dangerous. So Castiel speaks.

"I met an angel at the mall. Her name was Ariel."

Ariel wasn't bad. She had called herself a Penitent, a follower of Rebekah. She had wanted nothing more than to be left alone. 

"I came to shop with my friends. They're waiting for me," she had said, as if daring him to belittle her. Castiel had remembered that Ariel used to be in charge of giving assignments to cupids. Had Ariel found her own love? Castiel was curious, but he had not asked about that. Loving humans that way was dangerous, and Castiel had very much doubted Ariel would confess anything of that nature to him. 

So instead he had said, "There are so many things to choose."

Ariel had given him a long look of scrutiny, and relaxed a notch. "Yes, there are."

They had talked. It has been a long time since Castiel could converse with one of his siblings like that without a danger of being killed.

"She sounds great, Cas," Sam says upon hearing that. While his mouth is smiling, his eyes say he is waiting for 'the other shoe to drop'. 

He is not wrong. 

Castiel hadn't expected to stumble upon another angels so soon after his encounter with Ariel. Apparently, they had been hunting after her, because that is what angels are reduced to do. 

"A drop of blood to save gallons, Castiel. Isn't that why you started the War?" Batholomew had countered, confident as he stood in that marble white building. 

_That was different,_ Castiel had wanted to say, but no word had come to him. That time of his life is so tangled with guilt and regret and sheer desperation that attempting to parse any meaning from it is like staring at a whirling compass. As he recounts his evening to Sam, Castiel wonders if he would ever truly success in doing the right thing. 

"Baltholomew proposed that we work together to find Metatron. He wanted me to prove my loyalty by killing Ariel myself." 

Something like horror flickers on Sam's face, and Castiel wants to ask, _Do you think I have done it?_ He thinks it's better not to question. 

"I refused. Baltholomew didn't took it kindly and killed Ariel. He wanted a fight. I didn't." _Not that it mattered._ "He wouldn't let me go. In the end, I had to kill him. I left after that."

"His followers just let you?" 

Malachai's hadn't. Castiel had to slaughter his way out. At that time, he had the will and determination for it. Dean hadn't realized anything was wrong with Ezekiel and Castiel had been the only one with the information. Castiel wonders what he would have done if Baltholomew's hadn't let him go. Sam, while still in need of healing, wouldn't be hindered too greatly without his presence. And Dean... He doesn't need him now. 

"They were lost, Sam. Baltholomew, while ruthless, gave them clear orders. To suddenly be thrown back to chaos-" Castiel trails off. It pains to be reminded again that he's the major cause of their misery. "Some of them even wanted me to be their new leader," he intended this to come out as a joke, a self-deprecating one that Dean is so good at, but it falls flat. 

Sam looks uncomfortable. "Cas, if you want to go -"

"Sam," Castiel cuts in. "You know nothing good can come out of me being their leader."

Their eyes lock, and Castiel knows that they're both thinking of the same thing. Of Purgatory and Leviathans and broken Walls and broken faith. 

"Cas, you changed." Sam sounds sincere. It's humbling to have that kind of trust aimed at him. 

"I'm no leader, Sam."

"Then what kind of a leader do the angels need?"

Castiel pauses, because that's a good question. He thinks of his past superiors, Anna and Zachariah and Raphael. He thinks of Naomi and Malachai, and Baltholomew, another batch of leaders that came up in the wake of devastation he left in Heaven.

"They need someone who can show them they can have peace without bloodshed, who could promise that no more angels would die in the name of this senseless war," he says quietly. "And they deserve a leader who can be there for them all the time. I can't be that, Sam."

Sam looks incredibly uncomfortable. "Cas, you don't have to be here because of me. I feel fine, and there are more important things out there."

Castiel stifles a frustrated sigh. That is not at all what he wished to convey. "Have I ever told you how irritating Winchester's penchant for self-sacrifice is?"

"What?" Sam says, caught between offended and bewildered. 

"I'm not here because I want to 'kill time' until something important comes up. You _are_ important. I'm here because you're my friend and I can help. Nothing is worth abandoning you."

Sam seems lost for words, eyes wide and lips half-parted. _We're gonna help you get better, okay? No matter what it takes,_ Sam had promised once, fresh out of his own torment but still with the capacity to care. It's exasperating how much time it takes for them to understand that the sentiment is also true in reverse.

"Let's continue your healing," Castiel offers to fill the silence. He puts two fingers against Sam's forehead and feels the fissures close and cracks mend. His stolen Grace claws at him as it goes, but the discomfort is negligible. "I think it would take three or four more days to heal you completely, but I'm glad to see that it's going well."

Castiel stands up, thinking Sam would perhaps need some space. However, before he could leave the War Room, Sam says, "Cas, wait." 

When he turns, there are big arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Castiel freezes, uncertain as how to respond. The last time someone hugged him was in Purgatory, and while the feeling is so overwhelming right now, he still doesn't know what to do.

Sam chuckles. "This is the part where you hug back."

"Uh, right," Castiel mirrors the motion awkwardly. 

When Sam pulls back, he seems to be feeling much lighter. Castiel is glad of that. 

"Wow, that-- pe-- talk."

The unexpected voice causes Castiel to look around. Catching flickering colors at the corner of his eyes, he silences Sam's confused noise and approaches the spot. 

It's easier to see now that he knows where to look. He stretches his hand forward and pulls. Colors form into a cohesive unit under his guide.

"Kevin Tran," he greets gravely. 

The prophet doesn't answer. He's busy gawking. 

"Wait, wait," Kevin says at last. "You can see me? And-" he looks down at his arm, which Castiel is still holding. "Touch me?"

Castiel squints at him. "I'm an angel, you know." 

"Then why didn't you do this sooner? This isn't the first time I tried to manifest myself."

"I haven't seen you before. I can't pull a soul from behind the Veil, not until they had swam sufficiently close to the land of the living."

Kevin groans at that. "So it was all bad timing, then? Figures."

"Kevin," Sam says, face white. Castiel turns, and belatedly realizes that it would have been better if he had warned Sam about what he was about to do. At the time, his only focus was that 'the ghost' would soon flicker away again if he didn't act promptly. He didn't give much attention to the ghost's identity. 

"How come you're here? I thought you'd at least be in Heaven," Sam asks in a chocked voice.

Kevin shrugs. "I thought so, too. But turns out, Heaven's closed for business. Everyone who's died since the angels fell are all stuck inside the veil. Any idea how to fix this? I mean, besides undoing Metatron's spell?" He directs the last question to Castiel. Castiel, who has not thought much about the Veil.

He realizes how willfully blind he has been. The extent of the damage he has caused by foolishly trusting Metatron doesn't end with the angels and the humans caught between their wars. There are millions upon millions of souls who can't have the rest that they deserve.

Every life matters. He should have known better. 

He is ashamed. 

"Let me check," Castiel says, and reaches out his senses. He feels fluctuation where there shouldn't be, membranes too stretched in places. However, the damage is not so extensive yet to be hopeless. If he could get the souls to disperse a bit... but the stolen Grace is unwieldy. He must look constipated on the out side, because Sam's look of worry is getting louder and louder. Castiel decides to put aside his attempt long enough to explain the situation. 

"The Veil is in danger of overflowing. Angels and reapers can stabilize it to some extend by evening the concentration of souls in places, but it would only be a stopgap method. The strain would continue to become greater with each new death. We have to get the souls into Heaven."

"Or what, the Veil explodes?" Kevin asks sarcastically, but his expression clearly says, _Please don't tell me that's what is going to happen_.

"It won't," Castiel is happy to oblige the prophet on this point. "It would just collapse silently, taking other barriers between the demensions with it."

"So there's going to be Hell on Earth," Kevin says blankly.

Castiel inclines his head. "And Purgatory and other realms."

"Right," Kevin mutters. "You guys can handle it, I guess. I'm literally too dead for any of this." 

"Kevin, I'm so sorry," Sam says with voice wrecked with guilt. 

Kevin stares at him, then crosses his arms. "For the record, I'm not an absolution booth." 

Sam, opens his mouth, looking stricken, but Kevin subdues him with a glare. 

"And you didn't kill me. Even if you were somehow responsible for getting possessed without your knowledge, the last thing I need is your guilt. Yeah, it's good that you guys didn't forget about me the moment I died, but stop thinking of me as 'the kid who got killed because of me.' I'm more than that. It's insulting to be treated like all that I was is a notch on your list of guilt," Kevin lets out a sigh. The air is still around him. "What I need, is a favor."

Sam swallows hard. He looks both chagrined and relieved at the same time. "What do you need?"

"I want you to find my mom. I've been able to pass messages spirit to spirit, and I made contact with another new arrival. She saw my mom, alive."

"Okay. Do you know where she is then?"

"The ghost named Candy will tell you. She said she's in a forest in Wichita."

Sam waits paitently, waiting for further information. When nothing more comes, he raises his brow and asks, "That's all?"

"Long-distance communication within the veil isn't ideal," Kevin answers sullenly. Castiel is about to offer his help in that regard, but Kevin must have read something wrong in Sam's expression. He explodes in frustration. "I know that the universe is too busy destroying itself for you to care about one little life, but I'm not asking you to perform a miracle single handedly. You've got connections! Call up, find a pshychic or something. Tell another hunter to find Candy from missing people's list. I don't care what you do. I don't care if asking for help doesn't quite assuage your guilt like acting like everything is on your shoulder. I just want you to find my mom!"

Light begins to flicker wildly. More problematically, it's causing a ripple in the Veil. The already stretched thin membrane vibrates like it wants to tear itself into half.

"Kevin, of course I care. I-"

"No, no, never mind, I was just-" Kevin frantically waves away Sam's apology and turns to Castiel. "What the Hell is happening?"

"Resonance. It didn't help that the Veil is particularly thin in the Bunker," Castiel says tightly.

"Fuck, then what do we-"

Another tremble and the Veil ripped. It's not yet big enough to affect Sam, who has solid body to ground him on Earth, but it's not the same with Kevin. The only thing that is keeping him here is Castiel's hold on him. Kevin clings to Castiel, terrified of the pull he feels.

"Cas, what's wrong with Kevin?"

"I'm trying to fix this, Sam."

Sam seems put out but complies. He shifts uneasily as he watches Castiel. 

Taking no mind, Castiel concentrates on the task in his hand. He does the best he can, but he realizes that he also needs to work from the other side of the Veil to finish the job.

"I have to go through it," he mutters, half-dazed with realization. 

"You have to do what?"

Sam won't like it, but he deserve a courtesy of explanation.

"There's a rip in the Veil and I can fix it, but I have to go to the other side to do so."

"Can't it wait?"

The hole is getting bigger. "Not really."

"Will you be able to come back safely?"

"After Heaven reopens, maybe. The Veil won't withstand the strain before that," Castiel smiles sadly. "Take care," he says and hurls Kevin as far away from the point of the rip as possible, which just happens to be where Sam is standing. 

There's a commotion behind him, but he ignores it. 

Castiel jumps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to mash spn canon events a bit to get the characters where I want them to be. Hope this story would work. I really need Steve and Bucky to meet Cas.
> 
> On that notes, if anyone knows about good Cas-centric crossover fics out there, please let me know. I'm starving for them :)
> 
> And if this fic sparks your interest, feel free to talk to me! I'd love to chatter about these characters :)


	2. Chapter 2

"You can't, take me back. I won't-" the man tries to stand up, but he has no strength left in him. He claws weakly at the floor, eyes like a cornered animal. He fights to stay conscious, but in the end, his head falls limply on the ground. 

Castiel, who has been in this universe for all of three minutes, looks skyward and sighs. 

++

Driving usually helps clear Dean's head. However, there's only so much not-thinking one can do when stretch of road goes on and on forever and your best friend's fate is up in the air. His nerve is shot to Hell, his head is full of Cas and Sam and Kevin, and his body is bitching at him to take care of it. 

He tries to ignore all of that, and after nine hours of non-stop driving that only a twisted sort of blessing allowed to happen without him getting dragged into a police station, he pulls up in front of the Bunker. He wonders if Sam is expecting him to be here this early, then realizes that Sam has no idea where he had been. For all he knows, Dean could be a jackass friend and brother who lazed around for no good reason.

Well, great. Good to know there's always room to sink further in Sammy's eyes.

The thought hurts, and although he should really step back and mentally prepare himself for this less than ideal reunion, he doesn't. He goes right on to open the door. The key slides home with an easy click. He feels like a burglar about to intrude on a sanctuary. 

Which is ridiculous, because he's the one who made the Bunker into a death trap. 

He takes a deep breath and steps in. He goes down and down and down. There's no one in the War Room, but he can hear voices coming from the library, one of them definitely belonging to a female. 

What the Hell? 

He hurries in, not knowing what to think, then stops at the doorway.

"Charlie," he breathes, blinking rapidly. "What- how?"

"Oh, hey, Dean!" Charlie says brightly. She stands up to give him a hug. "It's good to see you." A pause. "Well, the circumstance sucks, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know," Dean says, half-dazed. He pulls out of hug. "But, weren't you suppose to be in Oz?"

"Uh-huh, but Sam sent me a message."

"What, there's a reception at Oz?"

"Apparently," Charlie shrugs. "I mean, I kept my phone charged to take pictures and stuff, but internet didn't work and I couldn't call anyone either. I was surprised to hear it chirping for the first time in a year."

"A year?" 

"Time runs differently in Oz."

"Of course," Dean nods as if that makes perfect sense. He looks at Charlie again, trying to see the difference a year made in her. "Uh," he flops his hand around his neck. "You cut your hair?"

"Thanks," she says dryly. "That kind of attention to details is what makes you a great handmaiden."

"Hey, watch it, I'll have you know that I'm-" 

Dean makes a mistake of sliding his eyes away from Charlie for a second to catch Sam hunched over the laptop, his shoulder stiff and his lips pulled down. His eyes are not even moving. He's just staring at the screen, feigning focus.

Because, you know, Dean is not really welcomed here. He's only here because Cas could be dying somewhere out there.

It's like getting dumped with icy water. 

"Right, enough chit chat. We've got a job to do," he mutters brusquely. He pats Charlie on the shoulder and goes around her to sit diagonally in front of Sam. He's not trying to distance himself from his brother or anything.

Sam finally deigns to raise his head, but not to face Dean. Not yet. Judging by the angle, he's holding an invisible conversation with Charlie.

Dean squashes the urge to look back. He leans against the chair. 

"Tell me everything."

++

 _I should've been here,_ that's the first thing that pops into his mind after he listens to Sam's long winded explanation, and Dean wants to laugh at himself for thinking that his presence would have changed anything for the better. 

What could he have done? Beg forgiveness to Kevin? Stop him from disappearing after Cas let him go? Stop Cas from throwing himself to God knows where? Like that stupid, self-sacrificing bastard would have listened to him. 

He can just picture Cas, standing against the light pouring out from some otherworldly plane, his eyes sad and consoling as he says, "I'm sorry, Dean," and maybe he would say something even more stupid like, "This is for the best," but of course that's-

"So what's the plan?" Dean asks, cutting his own train of thoughts off. 

Sam and Charlie exchanges a look. Dean doesn't like it.

"We contacted Sheriff Mills," Charlie says. "She's got a few days off, so I'm going to look for Mrs. Tran with her."

Dean definitely doesn't like it. 

"No."

"Dean-"

"No, no way."

Charlie blows out her breath. She looks up at the ceiling as if to pray for patience. "So what, you're going to find Mrs. Tran and get Cas back all by yourself? Be in two places at once?"

Dean remains stubborn. "I can do one after another."

"Yes, because neither of the situation is time sensitive. I bet they can wait until you get your head out of your ass."

"Charlie," Dean says, stung. 

Charlie rubs her face. "Sorry. It's just that I knew you would act like this, so I already had this conversation hundreds of times in my head and I want to move on," she shakes her head and looks up again, her eyes determined. "The point is, I'm your friend and I'm here to help."

"Charlie, these aren't some ghosts we're talking about. You never faced demons before."

"Sherlock Holmes, second from right, third shelf," Charlie says calmly. 

"What?"

And there is a flash of silver streaking by his face. When he turns, there's a knife sticking out of a book, still vibrating from the throw.

He can't see it from his place, but he has a feeling that the book is about Sherlock Holmes. 

"Don't worry, that one's mine. Thought that was the fastest way to show you," Charlie says to Dean's incredulous face. "Life in Oz was not all daisies and roses, Dean. I had to learn how to fight with swords and knives pretty much as soon as got there," She produces an angel blade from behind her back and twirls it around her hand expertly. "I fought off flying monkeys and evil witches. I think I can handle demons."

"Charlie, this isn't your fight," Dean tries to feebly defend his position.

"And I'm telling you, Dean, I'm not your daughter begging you to take her to an amusement park. I'm a fellow hunter capable of making her own judgement. You might as well accept my help since I'm already here and not going back to Oz until things settle down."

Dean feels helpless because he has no idea how to keep Charlie away. He can see that she isn't going to listen, so he glares at Sam instead. Why did he call her in the first place? She was off having her adventure, out of their lives and alive.

"Dean," Sam says, sensing his glare. "We need all the help we can get."

"Yeah?" Dean recognizes that what he's about to say is going to cross the line, but it's the best weapon he got, so he spits it out anyway. "Look what happened to Kevin. You wanna see the same thing happening to her?"

"Of course not," Sam says sharply. "This is different."

"Oh? Enlighten me," Dean leans forward, belligerent. He knows that he should stop, that he has no right to lay it on Sam like this, but he can't. He's so angry about this whole fucked up situation. He feels like wild fire, ready to lash out at anything.

And the fire catches up to Sam, too. Dean can see Sam's anger burning cold, making his body still and his eyes sink. Dean braces himself, because Sam's strike is gonna be precise and ruthless. 

"You know, when Kevin first told me he wanted to find his mom, I hesitated. Cas has yet to heal me completely and I didn't know if I was fit for travel," Sam says, voice flat and cold. "Kevin was furious. He verbally slapped me and you know what he told me? He told me to get a fucking help. He said, _I don't care if asking for help doesn't quite assuage your guilt like acting like everything is on your shoulder._ " And Dean, I think this applies to you, too."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't treat people like people, Dean. You just see them as a source of guilt, a ledger to be erased. You're too preoccupied with doing your penance to see that other people have feelings, too." 

Dean can't believe what's spewing out of his brother's mouth. "The fuck, Sam? That's rubbish and you know it." 

"Really? Because if you saw me as a person and not just your job to save, you could have never done that to me. You wouldn't have lent my body to an angel behind my back."

"Sam," Dean says, because he has nothing more to offer. They already had this argument. Yeah, it was a shitty thing to do, but Sammy is alive and he can't ever regret that. 

Sam closes his eyes. "Get some sleep. We'll talk later. I know you've driven non-stop here. I need some shut eye as well."

With that, Sam disappears down the hall.

Charlie and Dean are left alone in the library, and Dean feels like the lowest of the low. God, he didn't want her to see just how much of a fucking mess they were.

"Sorry about that," he mumbles behind his palm. 

Charlie gives him a pained smile."Don't worry. I was kind of bracing for this."

"Sam told you everything?"

"Well, I needed some context."

Right, because Kevin is the ghost now. Had to wonder how he died.

Dean suddenly realizes that Kevin had died before he could even meet Charlie. They were the two biggest geeks in his life. How could he have forgotten to introduce them to each other?

Hit with a new wave of grief and guilt, Dean stumbles up to get roaring drunk, fast. He sees that Charlie is following after him.

"What," Dean snaps needlessly.

"I'm gonna drink with you," Charlie says, unfazed.

"I thought you were leaving soon to track Linda."

Charlie shrugs. "Drinking alone is a bad idea. I'll keep company until you're ready to sleep."

Dean wants to say something biting to keep her away, but he's already exhausted with all the arguing. He nods mutely and fetches a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

They drink without a word for awhile, but Dean has to slow down because Charlie is trying to match him glass for glass. It's not that she doesn't hold her liquor well. Dean just doesn't want to risk giving her alcohol poisoning in case she's one of those people who looks entirely sobber but is black-oit drunk inside. He thinks Charlie may have planned for this.

"Do you think I should have just let Sam die?" 

He doesn't know who's more surprised by the question, him or Charlie. It just tumbled out of his mouth without a thought. Dean considers taking it back, but doesn't. He's drunk. That's enough of an excuse.

Charlie is silent as she mulls over the question, drawing slow circles over the rim of the glass. "I pulled her plug," she says at last.

"What?"

"My mom. After that djinn fiasco? I read her _The Hobbit_ for one last time, and I- I did it."

"I'm sorry," Dean says, because he should have remembered about her mother. Fuck, his question had been callous as Hell. While his only family was alive Charlie's was dead.

"Don't," Charlie shakes her head. "Yeah, well, anyway, what I wanted to say was that at that time, I thought that there was no more I could do for her. That was the only reason I could let her go," she hesitates for a second, then adds, "Of course, there was the crossroad deal, but I didn't want to go to Hell. Also, then I'd have died before her in a horribly mangled way and I couldn't do that to her. I know what it's like to be left behind."

Dean stares at her, shocked. He couldn't link that dark, desperate crossroad deal with Charlie and her sunshine personality. It just didn't match. To think that she actually sat down and considered the pros and cons of making a deal made him sick.

"But then, after she died, I saw the new series of books in _Supernatural_ ," her movement along the rim stops. "I read how Castiel brought Bobby back to life with just a touch of his finger, no price tag attached. And the first thing that came to my mind after reading that was, _Did I let her go too soon? Can Castiel bring her back to life even now?_ "

Her words are like a punch to the gut. His stomach flips. 

"God, Charlie, I had no idea," he chokes out.

Dean wants to slap himself. Maybe Sam was right to accuse him of being unable to see beyond himself. He didn't even think about asking for Cas' help when faced with Charlie's mother. Fuck, he advised her to let go. What must she have thought, watching him whining about Sam?

 _Well, her mother wasn't your fault so why would you care about her?_ a voice inside his head purrs at him maliciously. _The Winchesters are the only people allowed to dodge death, remember?_

"I'm not telling you this to guilt trip you, Dean, or to tell you that I want Castiel to bring her back now," Charlie says gently. "What I'm trying to say is that I understand how difficult it is to let go when you know there's an option. Even a stupid one. You were used to Castiel bringing back people with no consequences, right?"

Dean nods numbly. 

"Thought so. I think, if I was used to that idea of angel- if I knew that angels were real.. I don't think I could have let her go." Charlie runs down her hand across her face and laughs nervously. "God, I scared myself a little. I didn't even know Castiel and there I was, ready to use him like some kind of magical Death Eraser. I- supernatural really messes with your head."

Dean can only stare at the glass of whiskey at that. His head is swirling with death and angels and what is wrong and what is right and he just wants to forget everything. 

Then he thinks about waking up with a raging headache later on, no memory of his talk with Charlie, no memeory of Charlie having to let go of her only living family, and that makes him feel doubly sick.

"I think I want to try that sleeping now," Dean says. He's going to have a nightmare at this state, he's almost sure, but he would deserve that. 

"Yeah, I think I'll try that, too," Charlie stands up. She gives him a pale, tense smile. "Sorry I dumped my shit on you. I was supposed to make you feel better, not bring the mood further down."

"God, don't say that, Charlie," Dean goes to hug her. Maybe any other time, he would have hesitated - _don't get emotional, it's not manly, does our life look like a Lifetime movie to you, boy?_ \- but he just can't let her think like that. "I was a dick. I'm so glad you're here."

"Yeah," she pats him back, relaxing a little. "Right back at ya."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, I didn't think Charlie would take over the story like this, but I think we could all use more Charlie in our life xp
> 
> Anyway, Cas & Captain America folks interaction would be a bit slow to come, so if anyone wants that right now I have a one-shot in 'http://archiveofourown.org/works/4307481'. 
> 
> Thank you for all of you reading this fic. Please talk to me! I'm really curious about what you think :)


	3. Chapter 3

There are three things that Castiel knows about the man who had fallen unconscious in front of him:

1\. The man is the only one alive in this facility. He's human, but something's different.

2\. Castiel can smell tranquilizer running through the man's blood.

3\. Logically, the man killed the one who had tranquilized him. Possibly, he is responsible for most of the deaths here.

It could be that the man was kidnapped and was trying to fight his way out of this place. It could be that the man is a psychopathic murderer and he killed everyone just for his own pleasure. Either way, the man is dangerous, and Castiel should leave the man well alone. His stolen Grace feels hollow and has already attacked him with warning pain. He should be looking for a way out. 

Alone.

Castiel can't quite justify to himself why he's not already going his way. The man won't thank him. Dean certainly didn't when Castiel had raised him from Perdition. But it _feels_ wrong to leave the man unattended where the stench of death and blood is so strong. 

Every life matters.

After a moment of hesitation, Castiel crouches down to pull the man over his shoulder. The weight hardly bothers him. He adjusts his stance so that the man won't fall off, and sets his course toward the exit.

 _Am I doing the right thing?_ Castiel doubts even as his stride is sure and confident. He knows that there's no answer to the question. There never is. Castiel has no choice but to... follow his own choices. 

Castiel has and always will fight for Free Will, but not for the first time, he finds himself craving for certainty in his life. 

++

There is snow everywhere. And by everywhere, he means that it's up to his ankle and his shoes are beyond salvation at this point. Castiel is relieved that his Grace is working enough to keep his body in a good condition. He remembers how miserable it had been to be in the cold rain, chill seeping into his bone and fabric clinging to him uncomfortably. He wonders if he'd have survived if he had fallen during the winter, with no money on his person and streets froze over.

Human body is so susceptible to temperature. Castiel throws a worried glance at the man over his shoulder. It's alarmingly draining to use Grace in this universe. He can't afford to warm the man up. 

After that one attempt that left him crumbled on the floor, Castiel decided to leave the old factory they had been in as it did little to keep the cold at bay. Luckily, he had been able spot a cabin a few miles down the hill. He had thought that at the very least, it'd be easier to warm it up since it's smaller in size.

Was it a mistake? What if there's nothing to start fire with in the cabin?

Just to make the matters worse, wind begins to pick up and snow starts to fall from the sky. At this point, Castiel is not even surprised. He knows his own luck. He sighs and silently picks up his pace. If the cabin turns out to be a disappointment, he'd have to climb back up fast.

He misses his wings terribly. 

About half a mile from the cabin, it occurs to Castiel that he has no plan so far beyond _get to the cabin_ , and it displeases him greatly. The fact that he can't go back to his universe until Heaven is reopened and the balance is restored is no excuse to sit around uselessly. After a moment of consideration, he forms an idea that he might be able to devise a spell to get in touch with his friends. He resolves to start gathering possible ingredients as soon as he's assured about the man's safety. 

He walks on determinedly, only to slow to a halt as he spots two individuals near the cabin. Their clothes look peculiarly sturdy, more like an armor than anything else. One has a round disk in his back, and the other has a gun in his holster. They carry themselve like soliders. Castiel is sure that they have other weaponry in their person. 

Who are they searching for? Castiel feels a trickle of unease, too used to being the target of both Heaven and Hell. He reminds himself that they're only humans, probably with no angel blades in their posession, and relaxes a little. Still, what to do?

Castiel's about to hide behind the near by trees until he can gather his thoughts when his eyes meet with the one with the disk. The man's eyes widen for a second, then he starts a mad dash toward him. 

Instinct kicking in, Castiel starts running in the opposite direction, but the weight in his shoulder makes him slow down to a jog. The snowstorm is getting harder, and the man is in serious need of shelter. Even if Castiel were to shake off his chasers for now, they would soon find the factory. Confrontation would be inevitable. 

He really doesn't want to fight anyone. 

Hoping that for once in his life he would be able to talk his opponents down, he carefully leans the man against the tree, and plants himself in front of him. He considers flicking his blade out, but decides against it. He believes he can simply knock them out. 

He doesn't have much time to develop his strategy as a red and blue disk fly toward his head. Castiel catches it with one hand, surprised at the power behind the throw. 

His chasers come to his view, dismay evident in their feature. 

"I don't want to fight," Castiel says before anyone could start laying out threats. He hopes the shield in his hand would work as enough of a deterrent.

"Neither do we," the one who just threw the shield at him says. "Just give him back and we'll go seperate ways."

"What do you want him for?" Castiel asks warily.

The question seems to throw them off a bit. 

"What?"

"I can't give him back to you, as you say, when I know nothing of your intention."

The man narrows his eyes. "Are you kidding me?"

Castiel wishes that he was just kidding the man, that he already knows of the man's intention. It's annoying, this dullness of sense. Dealing with people was difficult enough when he could pick up on their moods and impressions with simple concentration of mind. Now all he has is words and acts that can just as well be fake. 

"I see now that it was a stupid question," Castiel amends. "There's no reason for us to trust each other." He risks a glance back at his charge. Snow is piling upon him, which isn't good. "Do you want him alive?"

"What?"

"Do you want him alive, or are you here to kill him?"

"Of course I want him alive," the man sounds strangled. He looks ready to tear apart Castiel if he so much as show a threat to the other man.

Castiel decides to take that as a good sign. He briefly wonders why he's so focused on ensuring the man's survival, but brushes that off for later concern.

"Then I propose a compromise. That man needs a shelter from the cold soon or he's going to die. You saw the cabin down there. I'll carry him, we'll all go to the cabin, and negotiate further where it's warm."

"I'll carry him," the man says and steps forward. 

Castiel steps back protectively. "I can't trust you."

The man looks lost for a second, then his feature hardens. "Fine, then I need a sign of trust, too. Give me my shield back."

That's a reasonable enough request to make. Castiel simply offers it toward the man. It won't do much harm to him, anyway. 

The look in the man's eyes is suspicious as he takes back his shield. He silently communicates something to his partner, then finally gives a jerky nod.

"Let's go."

Castiel nods back and scoops the still unconscious man back up to his shoulder. The other two men signals him to go first. He complies. 

It belatedly occurs to Castiel that this little stunt he pulled would only work to further delay him from gathering the necessary ingredients to call back home. 

Castiel shakes his head. If someone could make an art out of self-sabotage, it would be him.

++

Breakfast - well, it's 10:30 but it still counts - is a painful and awkward endeavour as Charlie is still asleep and there is no one else around them to play buffer. Sam doesn't look at him and just focuses on his laptop. 

Dean's aware that he should say something to Sam about earlier, but words are like saturated steam, formless and boiling. He chooses to choke himself with PB&J instead.

"You know we have to deal with angels now, don't you," Sam says all of a sudden.

Caught of guard, Dean lets out, "Wah?"

Ususally, this is the point where Sam would make a bitch face at Dean for talking with his mouth full. Little brother's too busy not looking at Dean. 

"Cas can't come back until we can get souls into Heaven," Sam says, all business-like. "We don't have the Tablet. Men of Letters are great but this spell is above their pay grade. We need angels on this."

"How would angels help?"

"They'd at least know how Heaven operates on normal days?" Sam rubs his forehead. "And they'd be able to translate Kevin's notes. Check if Crowley was lying." Sam pauses. "I forgot to ask Cas about them. Did - did Gadreel say anything about-"

"No," Dean says, deeply uncomfortable. "He wasn't- he didn't say anything."

"Right." 

Another stilted silence. 

"So, we are gonna track down angels? Interrogate them?" Dean asks, already itching to go out. Everything is shit. He needs something to do. 

"Well," Sam says, faltering. He takes a deep breath. "We don't need to. An angel already contacted me to meet."

"What? How?"

"I prayed to her." Dean gapes, _what the fuck_ , but Sam is not done. "There are a group of angels who only want to live peacefully among humans from what Cas told me. So I prayed to their leader to contact me."

Dean's first instinct is to rail on Sam for being fucking stupid. Gadreel's name is at the tip of his tongue, but he bites it down. The last time he'd done it, it hadn't ended pleasantly. "When were you going to tell me?"

Okay, so he might not be best at biting things down.

"This morning," Sam answers, eyes going steely. "Forgive me if I wasn't in the mood to talk then."

Dean opens his mouth, then swallows. He's only going to prove Sam right by bringing shit up. "What did you do."

"I didn't bring her to the Bunker for starters," Sam says nastily, then shakes his head a bit when he sees Dean flinches. He doesn't apologize. "I drove a few hours before I prayed. Rebekah - the angel - doesn't know where the Bunker is. I gave her my burner phone number and asked her to text me if she knew how to stop all kinds of dimensions from collapsing into each other. I didn't even tell her Cas was gone. I took every precaution."

Well, glad to know someone learned enough from his mistake to think about the risk. 

It still feels wrong that Sam had gone ahead and contacted the angel without telling him first. But there's no way to say that without sounding like a hypocritical bastard. "Okay. Fair enough," he forces himself to say. "But why does she want to meet you? Why not just e-mail you relevant info or whatever if she really wants to help?"

"She wants to see if we are serious enough to cooperate."

"Come again?"

"She doesn't trust us. She thinks we'll interrogate and kill angels for whatever information we seek." Dean inclines his head, because that's where his tentative plan had been going. "She's intervening to stop that from happening. If any angel dies by our hand, all deals are off. No angel would talk to us. She wants to test us by meeting us face to face."

"Oh, that's rich," Dean snorts. "What about them stabbing us in the back?"

"She said we can set up when and where to meet at least," Sam says, eyes straying back toward his laptop. "Though I think we gotta act fast. The angel muders are going crazy. If we wait too much she could end up dead before we can talk to her."

"That's nothing new. We already knew that angels were killing left and right."

"Yeah, but the number had been decreasing. These past few days, though? It has spiked back up with vengence. I think something has refueled the angel war."

"Of course," Dean says flatly. Every step of the road has to be fucked up in Winchester world. "Alright, so let's track her down. We can prepare everything and leave at-"

"What, you're gonna try to capture her?" Sam cut in.

Dean stares at Sam weirdly. "What, you were really just gonna go and talk to her?"

"What else can we do?"

 _What else can we do?_ Dear God, Sammy was serious. As if negotiating was any different from making a deal. "Holy fire rings any bell?"

Sam crosses his arms. "How are we suppose to pass the notes for them to translate without getting our ass shoved down to the fire? We certainly can't read out loud for them. I have no idea how to even pronounce what's written in here."

"We'll find a way to hold them in without fire," Dean counters automatically.

"And if angels really stay silent because of that like Rebekah promised?"

"Well, someone's gotta squeal," Dean says, voice grim. Purgatory, Hell, Dean knows how to make their residents talk. Why not throw Heaven into that mix? He tosses the last piece of PB&J inside his mouth, eyes catching a red smear of jelly on his plate. It's Cas'. Sam and Dean don't really care for jellies and yet he had found a whole new bottle of it in fridge. Cas must have bought it. Dean quickly goes through food that can use jelly in his head. Maybe Cas would-

"No," Sam says, popping Dean out of his thoughts. "We're not doing that."

"And the reason is-?"

"Look, we simply don't have a method to interrogate angels like we do with demons," Sam hesitates and adds, "Besides, Cas won't like it."

"I don't care what he likes," Dean shots back. "We're getting him back."

Sam snorts. "Why doesn't it surprise me that you don't care for what anyone else wants?"

Dean closes his eyes. No matter what they had started out talking about, they always return to this fucking topic. "I care. He's family. That's why I'm going to help him come back."

"Yeah, he'll be fucking glad to come back and find _his_ family killed by you."

It stings. He hates that those angels can claim that title so easily while Dean has to fight tooth and nail for it. "Cas knows that they are dicks."

"You didn't see him after his meeting with Bartholomew," Sam says sharply. "You know how miserable he was? He almost let himself be killed by refusing to kill another angel. So if you're gonna throw around the word family, then fucking think about what he wants before what you want!"

Dean's mouth clicks shut, his previous conversation with Charlie coming back with vengeance. Was he really doing that? Not treating Cas like real family? He cares, he always cares to the point of exhaustion, but it's like his caring has a big hole that makes him oblivious to really important shit. Charlie's mom, Kevin, shit, Linda. 

_If she is alive, then she's dead. In every way that matters, she's  
dead, Kevin, I'm sorry._

At that time Dean had thought that he was doing the right thing, letting the kid down easy. But now it turns out that Linda had been alive and kicking while he got her son killed. 

Why hadn't he tried harder on finiding Linda? If it had been Sam in Linda's position, he'd never have called quit. He'd have torn down Earth until he found something.

He still thinks that trying to negotiate with an angel that they don't even know is a fucking stupid idea, but being reminded of every shitty decision he had made recently silences him. 

"I'm going to talk to Rebekah whether you approve or not," Sam says, taking advantage of Dean's silence. "And I think it'd be better for all of us if you don't come with me."

Hurt, anger, betrayal, terror, hit with nauseating swirl of emontion, Dean can only respond with, "Sam?"

"Shoot, look at the time! Why didn't you guys wake me up earlier?" 

Sam and Dean both starts, turning to see Charlie come in with purple plaid half-pulled over her yellow shirt. She stops on her track when she notices how tense they are. 

"Okay," she says slowly. "I really hope I didn't interrupt any important talk."

"You didn't," Sam says before Dean can say anthing. "Come sit. Uh, I think we need a change of plan."


	4. Chapter 4

For the record, Castiel didn't intend to fling the man to the wall. Or to subdue him by forcing him down on his stomach. 

But when your cargo tries to strangle you before you put him on the couch and springs back to attack you, that sort of thing tends to happen.

"Bucky!" Castiel hears the man with the shield - Steve, from what he'd gleaned from the whispered conversation between the two men - shouting from his behind. "Let him go!"

The demand is probably meant for Castiel since 'Bucky' isn't in position to let anyone go. The man buckles wildly.

"I'm not sure he won't try to kill us all if I let go," Castiel grunts. 

"You're only making it worse."

Castiel wrenches Bucky's arms to his behind. He knows that the left one is prostatic, so he allows himself to put more force on that one. Bucky is strong. "Then what do you suggest?"

"Let me talk to him."

"I'm not stopping you."

Castiel doesn't let go even as he feels the glare aimed at his back. He won't take the risk. He didn't carry this man all the way down here just to stay idle and see him murder someone.

"Bucky, Buck, please. I need you to look at me," Steve says softly, having come around to crouch down in front of him. He hesitates, then put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Bucky."

Bucky jerks his head up, snarl twisting face. Steve bites his lips, but doesn't back off. His eyes are determined as he stares into the man, willing him to- come back. Castiel feels disoriented - deja vu, Dean would call it - and only realizes that the man has stopped trying to escape and frozen up when he hears a hoarsely whispered, "Steve."

Relief spreads across Steve's face. "You remember me."

Bucky breathes harshly. He opens his mouth, and it becomes clear that he doesn't share the sentiment. "Call your friend off of me," he says, tone tinged with accusation.

 _I'm not his friend,_ Castiel of few years ago might have felt obligated to point this out, but since then he learned not to correct people's misassumption at every opportunity. 

Before Steve can contradict him, Castiel asks, "Are you going to try to kill him?" 

Bucky doesn't answer immediately. Castiel isn't sure whether it's defiance or deliberation that is keeping him silent. "I don't plan to," he says at last.

That may be the best answer one can expect from this situation. Castiel gives a little nod and releases him. He notes that Sam is slowly lowering his gun. The man must have been aiming it at Castiel the whole time. 

Castiel wonders what stopped Sam from pulling the trigger.

Bucky doesn't resume his attack, either. He slowly gets up, rolls his shoulder back, and cracks his neck. All the while, his eyes are glued to Castiel, assessing him as a threat. 

"Where did you find this one?" Bucky asks, not taking his eyes off of Castiel.

Steve, who has been standing tense, ready for battle, takes a bit to catch up. "Huh?" 

Bucky gives him a flat look, then pointedly inclines his head toward Castiel. "He has some kind of serum, doesn't he?

"Uh," Steve says. "Well..."

Castiel glances at the window which is far too small, thinking if this is his cue to get out. Even from the brief interaction he has seen, it is clear that these men are not a danger to one another. And not to others either if their refrain from violence uptil now means anything. It all just seems to point out that Castiel's interference had been unnecessary.

He should get out before they snap out of their preoccupation and make things complicated. But he can hear wind howling outside and find himself reluctant. Angels shouldn't get tired but he is. He has been for months, years. It's all phantom pain, the result of skirting too close to humanity, memories. 

"Uh, where do you think you are going?" Sam asks as Castiel approaches the door. The man has been partially blocking the entrance all along. 

"He looks fine," Castiel says, indicating Bucky who's listening to Steve's stammered explanation about _I might sort of not know anything about the guy who just managed to disarm you and did in fact carry you out from wherever you were._

"So you want to head out," Sam checks.

"Yes."

"In this weather."

To his credit, Castiel only hesitates for a second before he answers, "Yes."

That doesn't mean he succeeds in carrying out his plan. 

"No, you aren't," Bucky snaps from his behind. "What are you?"

Castiel looks down at himself, at the coat that is far too thin for this weather. The question is valid. It's also familar, something that he has heard countless times, most notably in the little barn in Pontiac, Illinois. He remembers his display of wings rocking even the deep seated disbelief in Dean Winchester's soul.

However, he's now too weakened to waste his Grace in such frivolous fashion. Who would believe his claim to be an angel? He's obviously not human, but people believe far more easily in monsters and demons than angels. He can't feel Heaven in this universe. He's an anomaly.The prospect of having to defend his own existence with nothing but his words is daunting. He doesn't want to think about what he is. 

"I don't think you can stop me," Castiel says instead. 

Bucky's eyes narrow at what he perceives as challenge. He flexes his finger, a muffled, whirling sound coming from his arm. 

"Whoa, everybody, calm down for a sec," Sam says, holding his hands up. He turns to Castiel. "Where do you have to go so badly?"

 _To gather magical ingredients_ is not a generally accepted answer, so he says, "I thought you'd rather see me leave."

"I'm not stupid enough to risk you coming back with reinforcement," Bucky retorts.

"If I had wanted to bring reinforcement, don't you think I'd already have done that?" Castiel argues, although he knows that he won't be listened. He's tired.

Bucky shrugs. "No need to leave a lose thread."

Castiel isn't sure why the attitude suddenly frustrate him so. Suspicion, hostility, threats, he is used to dealing with all of them. That has been the general basis for his interaction with angels for years. _Better to nip a fledgling faction in the bud,_ Bartholomew's voice rings in his mind. However, these men are not angels and this isn't the world he broke.

Why does he have to be questioned like this?

"All I have done so far," says Castiel. "Is saving your ungrateful ass," he leans in, temper spiking. "So unless you're a mass murderer whose very existence will cause the end of the world, I have no reason to be cornered, and especially not by you." With a twinge from his Grace, Castiel realizes that the lights are flickering, responding to his mood. He takes a deep breath, regretting his brief tantrum. "Is that the case?"

Bucky regards him warily. "Why did you want me alive?"

Castiel is also having a moment of doubt about that. "You were the only one alive at the factory," he answers.

"And?"

Castiel frowns. _And?_ "I thought that there was enough death already." But that's not enough to rationalize his choice. "You killed them all," he says, half question and half statement. "Why?"

"What did you want with them?"

"I was just wondering if I had unleashed a mass murderer in your world."

Steve bristles. "Bucky isn't like that."

"I'm exactly like that," Bucky counters with the air of someone correcting an extremely stupid mistake. "But at least this time, I was killing hydra."

"They were humans," Castiel counters.

"Your point being?"

Bucky doesn't sound surprised to hear that the ones he killed were humans. Which can only mean that hydra was some reference with another meaning.

Castiel hates human references sometimes. 

"You didn't think you were killing a group of multi-headed water serpents in Greek mythology, then."

Bucky stills. "Are you kidding me."

"I'm not."

"You were at the hydra hideout."

"I woke up there."

"You expect me to believe you?"

"I don't," Castiel says, voice tinged with exasperation. "I just wanted to check if I made a right choice. Don't answer if you don't want to. I will be going."

"Wait," Steve says. He hesitates, then straigthens his shoulders. "Would you stay if I promise there won't be any attempt to interrogate or kill you? Unless you attack us first, of course."

Castiel tilts his head. "I don't think that's for you to promise." The tension in the cabin is sharp enough to cut.

"We are all feeling paranoid- for good reasons," Steve breathes in. "But I don't think I'd be comfortable kicking you out in this weather."

"I'll survive."

"Oh, well," Steve says, giving a wry smile. "Call it 40s manner. What do you say, guys?"

And there's a look in Steve's eyes, like he's sending thousand silent messages. Somehow deciphering for what they are, Sam crosses his arms and sigh. "You crazy bastard," he says. Still, he gives Castiel a small nod.

Bucky is staring at Steve as if he wants to break him open and see what's making him tick wrong.

"Bucky-" Steve says.

"Don't call me that," Bucky sharply cuts him off. His eyes shift between every occupants in the room, ending with a glare toward Castiel. "Don't give me a reason," he says, his own version of reluctant agreement.

Now, Castiel is the only one who has to give his answer. By all means, he should be paying the suggestion no heed. At best, it is a ploy to keep him and employ more subtle form of interrogation to extract information from him later on. Along the way, needless fights are bound to occur.

Wind howls outside, rattling the windows. The melted snow in his shoes is soacking through his socks.   
He should go, but he remembers _You can't stay_ and _What's out there for you, Castiel?_

He thinks about how much of a help he'd be with the Veil situation in his current position and how detrimental his absence would be to those left behind.

Castiel says, "Until the storm passes."


End file.
